Stuff of Legends, Vol 2
by one.twilight.sun
Summary: The second set of drabbles and one-shots featuring the Doctor usually Ten and Rose plus friends from all over the place. Probably angsty, some funny, others romantic and some sad. Be prepared.
1. His Many Names

**Author's Note: **

**Welcome to the first entry of _Stuff of Legends, Vol 2_.! I ended off on the original _Stuff of Legends_ because I feel like a short story collection gets unwieldy at 30 entries, hence I will continue to create new stories to dump all my drabbles and shorter one-shots of Doctor/Rose orientation (because believe me, I will keep writing about them for awhile).**

**This first one is from a prompt "strength" on LJ comm, dw100.**

***.***

**His Many Names**

…_Last of the Time Lords…_

Had it been necessary? Or was it just the easy way out?

All it took was the press of a button and two worlds went up in flames.

…_Destroyer of Worlds…_

It wasn't finding the strength to do it that had been hard. It'd been finding the will to move on, to not be burning with them.

Years spent traveling alone, going through the motions, being numb.

…_the Lonely God…_

A hand extended and held. The power of that lost until now. But it couldn't be just anyone's. It had to be hers.

…_My Doctor…_


	2. Swan Song

**Author's Note: I was going for simplicity. Something I don't do too often, so I hope you like it.**

**A Swan Song**

_You'll run with me in a world not meant for us_

*.*

They attempt to drown themselves in silent sighs and long, slow kisses. Strong, lean fingers weave themselves in golden strands, creating threadless bindings, as small white hands learn the contours of his hard chest. A taste here, a touch there and they are set on fire for each other.

Her arms hold him close (_I'll never let you go_) as his warm mouth finds her neck. A hot shiver runs through her as his teeth graze a sensitive spot. His hands move down her silken skin and she arches into his touch. Legs tangle in the sheets, as he twists around, wanting to see her high above him. Her laughter fills the small room, the eye of the storm.

*.*

_I'll follow to the end and welcome you_

*.*

"You aren't supposed to be here."

"I know."

The air feels electric. Her body acts like a metal to his magnet, despite knowing that this is wrong, that he_ really _shouldn't be here.

He hasn't moved from the doorway.

She stops in front of him. His haunted eyes drink her in and she can't help the rush of pleasure in being in his presence, in seeing that look in his eyes.

Her hand comes up, reminiscent of the same movement on the worst day of her life, except that this time, _this_ time, she feels his cool skin under her fingertips.

His mouth catches the salty tears as they fall.

*.*

_Hearts crossed and minds away, I'd give it up_

*.*

As years had passed, he'd realized that he'd do far more than burn up a sun just to say good-bye.

What did an old man, with nothing left, have to lose?

What had this universe ever done for him?

What had it ever given him?

Maybe the question, more to the point, was: what had it _taken_ away from him?

There's unspoken disapproval in his ship's mind.

But he ignores it as he enters the final coordinates and his hand hovers over the big red button (_So if I see a great, big, threatening button which should never ever ever be pressed then I just want to do this…)_ and he presses down with one smooth push.

*.*

_For one moment out of time, for my love true, I'd give it up for you_

*.*

After, when the energy is no longer igniting them from head to toe, they lay in each other's arms, staring up at the ceiling.

Reflections from the world outside play out across the blank canvas it presents. Suns going out, planets drying up, black holes swallowing the universe around them.

Her hand draws mindless shapes on his chest. "Was it truly worth it?"

He doesn't hesitate as he presses a soft (_the last_) kiss to her forehead.

"Yes."


	3. Whispered Scent

**summary **Rose was like Persephone, bringing spring where she went.

**Author's Note: I can't ever seem to write an Eleven/Rose where the two are actually together in the sense of a pairing. I'm more one of those "missed chances" or "needs closure" type people. I guess I'm just writing that here so y'all know what you're in for.**

**Whispered Scent**

It was the smell of green and flowers that had brought him here. He'd been ambling along the TARDIS corridor, ready to ignore the fact that it was Christmas, somewhere, some time, and continue along his merry (_not so very) _way, when a delicate hint of jasmine had invaded his senses. His synapses had crackled in a pleasant manner and he'd abandoned his ultimate goal for a cuppa, deciding that the conservatory might be just the place for him.

Except it wasn't the indoor garden his nose led him to. It was Rose's room.

He caught himself just in the doorway, his hand still on the doorknob, staring at the mess that was Rose. _That sneaky old girl_. The last time he'd been in here was his last regeneration and he'd been too busy to (_chosen not to_) visit or somehow get this room cleaned up (_deleted of painful reminders_).

Everything was just as she'd left it. He remembered (_never really forgot_) the heavy weight of loss and grief that had swamped him as he'd stood in this same spot and closed the door on the girl who had awakened his soul. That same weight pressed down on him now, but somehow he felt more compelled to enter her domain, see what she left behind.

Tentatively he took a step forward in to the bright and airy room. The ship had always doted upon her, giving her the best. There were all shades of pink covering the walls, the bed and even edging the doorways to the bathroom and closet. The smell of jasmine was faint and he could almost hit himself for not realizing why that scent had sparked his senses.

_She laughs as she breaks away from his gentle grasp. _

"_No way are you gettin' this from me!" In her hands is the last chocolate biscuit of the last tin before they have to make another stop. She tries to run around her bed, still unmade from this morning, but trips on an errant boot that wasn't put away. She falls with a curse on her bed._

_The Doctor, who is following close after, is caught off guard by her fall and goes down with her. She squeals as he lands half on top of her, still making a grab for that last sweet. It's his favorite biscuit, at least this time around. _

_A sudden thought occurs to him, a brilliant thought, actually, and he uses the hand not grasping for the biscuit to tickle her exposed stomach. She laughs, her hand loosening on the treat and he nabs it with triumph, smiling down at her. _

_Her blonde hair fans out around her and her warm eyes are sparkling with mirth, her perfume coiling around his head, and he's struck with how much affection he has for her, this close to her. She must have seen something in his own face as the laughter fades between them and there is just words between them that can't be spoken, that won't be spoken because of his fears and her insecurities. _

_But he can feel the closely kept secrets knocking at the walls he's erected. Everything would change if they escaped, if she knew, so he shifts away, taking a bite out of the biscuit, grinning maniacally at her. He ignores the way he eyebrows come together in slight confusion, the disappointment in her eyes. It's better for her that she not know than to take her down with him._

He ignored the beating of his hearts as he moved further into the room, tired of the sadness that clung to him, that prevented him from being able to celebrate what he _had _had with Rose. Because there had been so many good times, so many fun times.

He paused at the edge of her bathroom. The smell of jasmine was more prominent here, with an underlying sent of _her _lining the walls and drifting in the air. He could almost see the spirals of perfume wafting around.

His eyes caught his own in the mirror above the sink. Such a different face from his last one (_the one he'd made for her_).

"_Why're you starin' at me?" She doesn't turn around to face him, continuing to apply mascara, her face an inch or two away from her bathroom mirror._

_He thought he'd been sneaky in coming into her room, quiet as a Yarni mouse, he'd thought. Apparently not though. He doesn't reply, just waits for her to finish what she's doing. _

_He finds it interesting, this ritual covering of one's face. Sometimes, she spends a good forty-five minutes putting on cosmetics, curling her hair, doing whatever it is she does that she thinks would make her look better. He laughs about this to himself: she's already beautiful. But he doesn't say the words, that thin line drawn between them would get smudged and then erased and he wouldn't know what to do about her, him, them, after that._

_She finishes and turns to him, one eyebrow raised. He meant to tell her that they'd landed on the only fully ocean planet known to exist or some other inane and safe thing, but what comes out is:_

"_Rose, you're beautiful even without the make-up."_

He turned away from his reflection. Maybe it was still too soon to touch that gaping part of his hearts. The feelings threatened to overwhelm him, the sadness, the despair, the _love_ that he felt for this girl. Blindly, he moved out of the doorway, suddenly feeling suffocated by her scent, the reminders, the memory.

He tripped over something peeking out from under the bed. Catching himself with one hand, he took advantage of his bent position and grabbed at the offending item. It was a shoe box with a large paper sign that read _"DON'T LOOK"_.

Despite the choking sorrow, he smiled. He felt certain that this box was meant for him. One thing (_out of many_) he loved about her was her playfulness. And she knew that wherever there was something telling him to "keep out", he'd go right on in. Like he was doing now.

Tugging the top of the shoe box off, he found another smaller box with a note on it that said, _"That means __you__, Doctor."_ That made him laugh out loud. Oh, she knew him (_too well_).

He hesitated for a second, but mentally shrugged. She wasn't here now (_keep breathing_) and wouldn't know if he looked. He took out the smaller box and opened it, only to find a thick envelope, the size of one of this greeting cards, the kind that he'd always been fascinated with, mainly because he'd never received one. Turning it over, he saw that she'd written on the flap of the envelope: _"I mean it, Doctor. I don't want you to spoil your Christmas present!"_

The memory of that first Christmas without her slammed into him and he shut his eyes in remembered pain. The envelope crinkled under his clenching fingers. The sound brought him back to the present. Carefully loosening his grip on the envelope, he smoothed it out on the bed.

He slid a finger under the flap and opened it, pulling out the card within. There was a piece of paper wrapped around it. _"OK, fine. If you're going to look at it, then fine! But it's not done yet so don't laugh or anything."_

Under the paper was a homemade card. A photo of their first Christmas together, when he'd just regenerated and had spent dinner with Rose and her family was pasted onto a TARDIS-blue card. He'd never seen this photo but he remembered the moment. The Doctor in the photo had his arm around Rose, holding her tight against him as they gave ear-splitting grins at the camera, wearing their ridiculous paper crowns. Her smile hit him with a punch in the gut. He traced her face with his finger.

A glitter below the photo caught his eye. His hearts stopped. Rose had started to glue glitter over words that she had traced below the photo. As he read her careful penciling he felt overwhelmed, by memories, by emotions. It had been so long…

What Rose had left incomplete was the inscription below the photo. The swirling forms and the dramatic flourishes of the language of his people, a dead language, was one that he never thought to see written by another living hand. Where had she learned it?

He felt the presence of the TARDIS in his mind, her own sadness a small echo of his.

_She sits cross-legged on the unmade bed, pillows fallen to the floor to make room for her project. Her pencil is poised over the TARDIS-blue card. "Tell me that ag'n?" she says without looking up. There is a pause and he can feel the TARDIS reaching out to the yellow-haired girl. She nods and looks up at the ceiling with her gorgeous smile. "Thanks!"_

He's surprised that his ship had done that, something that almost felt like it shouldn't have happened but at the same time, also felt right. The TARDIS filled his mind with the unforgettable image of the glowing Bad Wolf along with a feeling of connection that mirrored his own with the ship. Another tie that bound him to Rose.

He traced the words she'd so carefully etched out, mouthing the words. Rose had probably not even been aware of what the TARDIS had actually had her right. A soundless agreement tinged with sorrowful mischief came from the old girl.

"_The Doctor and his Rose."_


	4. I'm His Girl

**I'm His Girl**

Everyone knows that she's his girl. Lyrics from "I'm His Girl" by Friends

*.*

_When you see me walking around with him  
>I'm not just another chick<br>I'm his girl  
><em>

Harriet knew that there was something different about the young blonde and the old soldier in his leather jacket. He proclaimed himself to be a Doctor or rather, she supposed, _the _Doctor. They'd come bounding in to Number 10 as if they'd belonged there though the girl's, Rose Tyler's, jeans and pink t-shirt said anything but, and saved the day. And they'd done it together, playing off each other though it was clear that the Doctor was far more knowledgeable than his companion. Yet he deferred to her. Harriet had never seen anything like it.

She'd seen many remarkable things that day (not the least being aliens hidden in human bodies), but what she remembered most about that day (other than surviving an exploding building) was the look in that man's eyes when he'd faced Rose Tyler across the expansive wooden conference table. It was a look she never forgot, even when she saw him again in a different body.

It was a look of complete adoration.

_And I can be proud that I'm his girl  
>'Cause I know that I'm good all by myself<br>See I don't need his love  
>I really want him, right<br>_

It wasn't until she'd been separated from him for two years that Rose was able to see that she'd become something more than just a shop girl.

Ever since that last good-bye with the Doctor at Bad Wolf Bay, she'd allowed herself just to be pulled along by the tide. Not actually participating, just watching as events, people, _life _passed her by. Pete had given her a job at Torchwood which she'd taken just so her hands and mind could be kept busy, not actually processing what she was doing. She'd taken a field job, collecting up alien machinery that were thrown from the Rift or crashed to Earth and cataloguing and analyzing them.

The change happened on an ordinary day in the lab, tinkering with some odd parts that had been found off the coast of Newfoundland. Mickey had come in, as he had a tendency to do, and tried to engage her in some small talk. She'd answered absentmindedly, not really hearing what she was saying until she'd noticed that the man had gone silent.

Turning off the sonic device she'd rigged up a few months before as she'd found that it had been the only way to work a Gangerian energy module, she glanced up at him. Mickey's mouth was hanging slightly open, his eyebrows drawn together in slight confusion and realization.

"What?" she asked, a bit disturbed but also curious.

"You realize you sound like him, right?" His tone was almost accusative.

She paused before responding, trying to remember what she'd been saying, and realized that in her time at Torchwood and with the Doctor, she'd picked up a large body of knowledge about alien technology and the way of the universe and had been rambling off her answers with complete certainty. She glanced down at the sonic device in her hand, feeling the first genuine smile in years appear on her face._  
><em>

_And he can feel good that he's my guy  
>'Cause he knows<br>It don't mean that he's just mine  
>I don't wanna own him, or control him<br>I just want our souls to be aligned_

_When you see me walking around with him  
>I'm not just another chick<br>He picked up for a walk around,  
>He's gonna put that down again<br>_

Jack watched the way the Doctor treated Martha and felt sorry for her. The girl had her heart in her eyes, jealousy evident in her voice when Rose was mentioned, defiance in the face of the Doctor's anger at their joking. But Martha wasn't Rose. And what was worse was that Martha knew that.

It was so different from when they had her. Yes, part of the uncomfortableness was due to the fact that he couldn't freaking die but other than that, it was the missing warmth, the extra heart that Rose had provided that was gone from this Doctor. He wasn't dark and brooding because of the fall of the Time Lords like his previous regeneration. No, this Doctor was filled with the darkness of missing Rose.

He'd thought that she'd be around longer. And when the Doctor tells him why she's not there, Jack understands why she isn't there. She'd never have left by her own choice and neither would the Doctor have let her, if it was within his power.

_I'm the one he loves & trusts  
>He goes out on the town<br>I don't get jealous  
>It's all about affection<br>Not possession with us_

_And I do exactly what I want_  
><em>When I'm with him,<em>  
><em>And when I'm not<em>  
><em>It's not a maneuvering<em>  
><em>Just to deal with<em>  
><em>What we've got<em>

The tea had been poured and Jackie had settled in next to Rose in the living room before she thought to ask where the Doctor was. Rose answered that he was refueling the TARDIS and she'd wanted to just visit with her mum. Jackie had smiled at her answer, always happy to have her daughter with her.

Rose stared at the television, a small smile playing across her lips though she wasn't really watching anything funny. Jackie just observed her. Her baby girl had grown up in the past couple of years. She'd matured with all that she'd seen and observed. Jackie never asked too much about what she and the Doctor got up to, knowing she probably wouldn't like all the answers or believe them anyway.

She knew that they weren't sleeping together though. There was always that tension running between the two of them that never went away. A line that one of them never crossed. Jackie knew which one who was holding back . Neither she nor Pete had been one to control impulses so she was sure that Rose had never inherited anything like that.

She cocked her head to the side. She wondered about it though. They spent so much time together. And they were in love. It was obvious to see for anyone who cared to look.

_So, if you love someone  
>Let them be free<br>I know I don't want no one suffocating me._

_Don't settle for ownership_  
><em>Make it deep<em>  
><em>If you love some one<em>  
><em>You should feel good<em>  
><em>To let them breathe<em>

She couldn't believe that in the middle of all this danger, of the fact that the Earth was gone, that Rose was coming. The Rose. The one who the Doctor couldn't stop talking about when she first met him. The one whose room had been sealed shut after the one time Donna had found it and seen that he'd left it exactly the same. The one who he'd talk to in the middle of the night, when he thought that he was all alone in the control room. That Rose.

That wide, eager smile he'd displayed when she'd asked if Rose coming back was a good thing, it was a smile that one could think was the same as his other smiles but Donna knew better. It was a smile for Rose. She'd never seen it before and she'd wanted to reach out and touch it, just get a taste of what love like that must feel like because she never thought she'd get a chance at that. Not like them.

When she stood there, in the middle of a deserted street and tried to remember all that the beautiful blonde had told her, she felt her heart drop at seeing the disappointment in her best friend's eyes. Rose hadn't come.

But just as soon as she'd given up herself, it had become a moment for the ages, a moment to be sung about in ballads and written down in poems. Because Donna had caught sight of something that would lift the Doctor up so high she didn't think he'd ever come back down.

She saw _her.  
><em>

_So, when you see me walking around with him  
>I'm not just another chick<br>I'm his girl_

_When you see me walking around with him_  
><em>I'm not just another chick<em>  
><em>I'm his girl<em>

His hand moved down her neck and across her shoulder, lightly grazing across her arm, raising goosebumps on her skin. It was a touch of exploration. He'd never done this, in the time he'd been with her. This was a first. Rose felt herself sway as his mouth followed the same path, slower, more seductive. She moaned as he found a sensitive spot on her neck, sucking lightly. Her hands came around his shoulders, pulling him to her, eliciting sensual sounds from him as skin touched skin, melded them together as never before.

His mouth met hers again, warmth and wet becoming all they knew for a moment. He pulled back to meet her eyes. His hand came up to touch her face reverently. The moonlight causing his dark eyes to shimmer. So much love was there. So much that it caught her breath and wound it around in her stomach, stirring her desire even further. In the years she'd been with him, she'd only seen glimpses of it before he'd turned away but now, he took off the mask he'd worn and let her see all of him.

It was scary, knowing that he'd felt this way their entire time together, knowing what he was capable of when he was by himself, on his own. She was thankful for all the people who'd come into his life, who'd helped him find his way back to himself. Find his way back to her.

_When you see me walking around  
>I'm his<br>When you see me walking around  
>I'm his<br>When you see me walking around with him  
>I'm not just another chick<br>I'm his girl_


	5. Time Lord Kisses

**Time Lord Kisses**

_Kissing a Time Lord is a bit different._

* * *

><p>His dark gaze makes your skin tingle and your blood burn. He's looking at you as if you're the key to his soul, the threshold of eternity and you think that maybe you can be. For him.<p>

He steps closer, his tall frame towering over you, his presence overwhelming. His hands come up slowly, so slowly to wrap themselves around you, pulling you closer to his body. You follow the gentle pressure and feel yourself enveloped in heat and so much _feeling_.

You haven't touched anyone in what seems like _years_ and here you are, encompassed in the one embrace you thought you'd never get to experience again. His nose is buried in your hair and your face is against his neck. You're holding back tears and trying to inhale the essence of _him_. He's squeezing you so hard that you feel you'll explode into a new person, a new being, one who didn't have to travel the universes just to get here, one who didn't have to give up one year of her life each time she jumped.

You don't know when this embrace changes. Your breath catches and you hold yourself still, not wanting to break whatever spell it is he's found himself in. His hands have moved lower, stopping just where your lower back ends, the edges of his fingers trailing under your shirt. His lips have followed his nose and are gently nuzzling your neck, trailing up towards your ear.

You tip your head back, helpless against the soft caresses. He seems intent on just exploring your neck, learning the contours of your skin with his lips and—you gasp—with his tongue. His fingers have now moved under your shirt and that blue leather jacket and are splayed out against your hot skin. You want his hands to imprint themselves on you.

Your own hands move up on their own accord, fingers losing themselves in his soft thick hair, massaging his scalp. A pleased groan escapes his lips. You clench your legs against the sound. He pushes against you, seeking friction and you oblige, your body thrumming with electricity, more turned on then you've ever been

And you realize that you haven't even kissed but that it doesn't even matter because he's here in your mind and it's _so_ much more than you expected.

**Author's Note:**

**KJMirrorSmoke, I promise the next one will be fluffy! : )**


	6. Wasteland

**Author's Note: **I'm so happy to be back with something! It's so funny that this would be inspired by the "Dry" drabble contest at the LJ comm "who_contest" considering the fact that that's how I've felt – dry of ideas, dry of inspiration – yet _thirsting_ to write. I'd already been mulling this particular aspect of the Doctor by the time "A Town Called Mercy" aired, but that episode just cinched it.

"**Wasteland"**

_There was a reason why the Doctor rarely traveled without his companions._

.

.

.

He was left gasping on the floor of his console room, his mouth drinking nothing in but the cold bare air of his ship. His life had turned into a wasteland. What was it about being surrounded by other people, other bodies that helped keep that vital fluid of life running through his veins?

His last companion, his last friend had left. Just like the rest of them eventually had to leave. His hand made useless motions at his side, straining for the sonic screwdriver. He'd already tried moving his legs and found them unresponsive. His head could only tilt slightly to the side. He felt frustration and pain and anger well up in him.

Recriminations scorched with heat, their tears flooded his lungs, the disappointment pierced his hearts.

There was only so much he could take with each coming and going of these dear dear people.

He'd always known that one day it would come to this. That he'd once again be alone, left behind just as he'd abandoned everyone else. He just hadn't expected it to be so _soon. _He hadn't thought that he'd be left dehydrated, like a man left to die in the middle of the desert.

For that's what he felt like each time he found the TARDIS empty of all but his voice and his footsteps, his lonely rounds in the night. The drought of companionship wasn't something he suffered easily and each time they left, whether of their own accord or not, the moisture of love and warmth was sucked out of him.

He became harsher, rougher, more like the bleak dunes of the Sahara rather than the rolling hills of the English countryside. Each time he found himself wanting to punish instead of help, wanting to hurt instead of heal, wanting to kill instead of save – each time, he knew that the thick skin he'd thought he'd developed, that shield of insouciance was just some flimsy rag to be incinerated in the flame of regret and sorrow and just a touch of hate.

His respiratory bypass failed. Blackness began to cloud his vision as he stopped fighting for his next breath.

And then through the suffocating darkness that slowly enfolded him, a single sound touched his ears, like balm upon flesh that burned.

"Doctor?"

And he smiled as his parched soul once more filled with the healing flow of affection, the warm touch of human, the cooling sweetness of a _friend_.


	7. Bait

_Spoilers for "The Snowmen" Christmas Special 2012_

**Bait.**

My, my, my, a lonely man is such an easy mark. Take away his family, take away his wife and what do you have left? Someone who just sits at home and grouches. He's nothing without an audience, this _Doctor_. For almost a hundred years, he's sat on his cloud, surrounded by dense water crystals, the stars and the great beyond.

I pity him. Without the humans, the simple minds to dazzle, he withdraws, ponders his memories, chews them until all that's left is the bare marrow of his life.

While he's passed the time with his head in the clouds, I've been busy at work.

He didn't realize this when he first met her at the Asylum, but the project had begun just that long ago.

How do you trap a trickster? By playing his own tricks against himself. Take the best parts of him, the things he feels make him a better person than he really is and put them all in one being. Then dangle her in front of him.

And take her away just when she starts to get interesting.

It was hard to set up the second meeting, what with him refusing to come to Earth for more than an apathetic sweep of London at an anomalous time. But I waited because I knew that he couldn't stay away from his beloved planet for too long nor could he really isolate himself for extended periods of times. The Doctor was far too much of a showman to do that to himself.

I watched as the detectives and Clara swept the Doctor up into the great mystery of the snow. Her lightening quick response and clever mind drew the Gallifreyian in with satisfying alacrity. He didn't remember her though until the moment after he'd handed her the key to his ship and before she'd been taken by the Ice Woman. The shock on his face was enough to feed my hunger for days to come.

His realization of who she was as that Victorian incarnation ended was the fish taking the bait. He couldn't resist finding out more about her, of feeding that curiosity that had burned in him for a millennium ever since he was first woven out of the Great Cloth.

This being that seemed to embody how he saw himself in the better times, that wistful longing to go back to what _was, _before he'd suffered the losses, it was too sweet and _human _for him to resist.

I had set my trap well. Now all I had to do was watch him fall.


	8. If Doctor Who Were a Daytime Talkshow

**Author's Note: For some reason, I didn't post this anywhere on this site . . . wrote a bit ago, posting now. Enjoy. It's a rare bit of fun.**

* * *

><p><strong>If Doctor Who Were a Daytime Talkshow<strong>

A blank screen flicks to life.

Onscreen is a black background with the words "The Terry Larger Show" displayed in prominent flashing lights. The words fade into a shot panning down to show an eager audience of various species—from Sontaran to Geltf; human to Slitheen—all awaiting the latest special guest.

A booming voice is heard: _"And __let's __welcome __your __host, __TERRRY __LARRRGERRR!"_

The audience claps and cheers as a gray-haired man walks in, stage left, waving at the crowd with both hands, grinning widely, his spectacles reflecting the show lights above. He takes a seat at the pair of hover chairs situated at the center of the stage.

"_Well hello folks! __This afternoon, we'll __explore __the __meaning __of __life __and __the __evolution __o f stars…" _he trails off on a chuckle, waving his hand at the booing audience.

_"I'm __joking __of __course! __What __I __have __in __store __for __you __in the next hour __will __surprise __you, __scandalize __you and __just __send __plain __old __dirty __delight __down __your __bones, __because __today, __ladies __and __gentlemen and those in between, today, __is __a __treat!"_

A light turns on behind two thin screens, backlighting a petite and obviously female silhouette. An appreciative murmur runs through the male gender of the crowd.

"_Our __special __guest in this hour __has __been __known __as __a __Defender __of __the __Earth, __the __Valiant __Child _and _the __omnipotent __Bad __Wolf! __Ladies __and __gentlemen, etc., __I __give __you __the __one, __the __only…Rose __Marion Tyler!"_

The noise in the studio is deafening, the audience stamping their feet in approval while they also cheer and clap as the two doors open off to the side and a very pretty and blonde woman walks in, waving at the audience, a beautiful smile setting flutters to hearts (or organs that pass for hearts in some species).

She meets Terry halfway to the chairs and hugs him before he escorts her to her chair. She pauses just before she sits in the other available seat and suddenly turns back to the audience, arms up in a clawing action as a golden light flashes around her and the audience gasps at the great dark wolf that is seen for a moment before the light fades and it's just Rose standing there and laughing. The audience loves it and cheers even louder.

Rose takes her seat and beams at Terry.

_"Well, __Rose, __as __always, __you __bring __such __beauty __in __any dimension __or __world __you __visit."_

"_Oh, __Terry, __you're __so __sweet! __But __you've __gotta __realize __you __say __that _any _time __I __come __on __your show."_

"_That's __because __it's __true __dear. __It's __been __some__time __since __you've __graced __our __show __though. __I think __the __last __time __you __were __on, __it __was __before __the __Doctor, __wasn't __it?"_ Rose nods in confirmation. _"I __believe __we __were __still __at __the __Jimmy __and __Mickey __stage, __huh?_"

She nods again as her nose wrinkles in silent distaste while behind them, on the vid screen, flashes several photos of Rose with a mean looking, slightly drugged guy and looking sad (the audience sighs) then a bored Rose with a goofy, slightly blank-eyed black guy (laughter breaks out). She smiles self-deprecatingly. _"Yeah, __but __right __after __that, __I __got __a __real __man—or __should __I say: __Time __Lord!" _Cheers break out as pictures of a tall brooding man in a leather jacket flash onscreen.

"_Whoa, is __he __a __hottie! __You'd __better __thank __the __stars __I'm __not __omni," _he says with a wink to Rose._"I've __got __something __special __for __you __tonight __honey. __Let __in: __the __Doctor!" _This is directed at the same doors that Rose had walked in earlier.

There's an audible gasp as in walks the same brooding man from the earlier photos. Rose had jumped up as soon as he had appeared, shock clear across her face.

"_Rose!"_ His face turns from frowning to a ridiculous smile and he runs to meet the girl who's making her own way to him. There's a heartfelt gush from the crowd as they hug and then Terry is clapping his hands to get the two people's attention.

They break apart and speak over each other in an excited effort to explain to each other.

"_I thought you'd died in—"_

"_So did I! I mean regener—"_

"_I saw you! All that flashing light—"_

"_Let's __not __get __into __the __semantics __of __it __all," _Terry interrupts them, _"Why __don't __we __just appreciate __that __it's __happening?"_

Rose and the ninth regeneration of the Doctor hold hands as they each take a seat, an extra seat having appeared for the Doctor.

_"Tell __us __a __little __about __yourselves."_

The Doctor's face shutters as he looks around the room with a mild glare, making it evidence to the audience that he is not a talkative man. _"I'm __not __a __talkative __man,"_ he says. It's like he's reading minds.

Terry stares at him for a second, nonplussed, before he recovers and turns to Rose, a smile pasted on his face.

_"Rose? __Can __you __tell __us __about __the __last __time __you __guys __saw __each __other?"_

Her gaze goes distant as she falls back into the memory. _"The __on'y __thin' __that __I __can __really rem'mber __s'that __he __kissed __me."_ The audience sighs and the Doctor's face changes red while Rose smiles up at him, her love obvious.

The moment is broken though when a skinny bloke in a brown suit crashes through the same doors that the Doctor had entered. _"Rose! __My __only __Rose! __Thy __golden __hair __glows; __the __North Wind __blows, __for __thee, __oh __distant __Rose!" _the man with great hair shouts with extreme flair, falling before her on his knees. The audience breaks out into excited murmurs as the Ninth Doctor jumps up and glares at the supplicating man.

"_Who __is __this?"_ his voice is a dark fury, the northern accent settling into a deep brogue. Terry has disappeared off to the side, gesturing to the cameras to keep rolling, obviously elated at the unasked for drama.

Rose can't seem to speak, her wide eyes shifting from the suited man to the leather-clad Doctor. The man on his knees falls forward, his hands reaching blindly out to grasp her boots. She finds her voice, _"Doctor?"_

"_Yes! __That __is __I! __It __has __been __long __since __I've __gazed __upon __your __beautiful __face! __I __am __almost unworthy! __There __were __times __when __I __did __unspeakable __things __and __it __went __wrong, __so __so __wrong!" _he trails off on a wail. Rose has at this point gotten onto her knees next to him and tried to pull him up but he fights her and lays on the ground, one arm thrown across his face.

"_Rose? __Who __is __he?"_

She smiles up at the Doctor a bit sheepishly. "_This is you, in your tenth regeneration."_

"_What?" _Nine is completely offended. _"I'm __a __blitherin' __overly __dramatic __and __toothpick __thin crybaby?"_

She glares up at him but then glances at the sobbing Tenth Doctor and finds that she can't actually disagree.

_"Yeah. __Except __he __wasn't __quite __like __this __when __I __knew __him."_

"_Wait, __you __mean __we…separate?"_ The hurt is evident in Nine's voice.

Rose stands up and puts her arms around him. _"Well, __yes __and __no."_

"_Get __your __hands __off __of __her, __you __jumper-wearing, __leather-clad, __know-it-all!"_ The audience jumps to its feet as one at the thunder-like roar fills the studio. In strides a blue-suited skinny bloke who looks strangely exactly like the Tenth Doctor who was still blubbering on the floor.

Rose and Nine jump apart and her mouth drops open as she sees the twin. _"John? __You __knew __I was __coming __here!"_

John stops on the other side of Ten (who can't seem to stop crying and moaning about how guilty and alone he feels). _"I __know, __but __when __you're __born __in __battle, __full __of __blood, __anger __and revenge, __I __couldn't __just __stand __by __while __you __met __up __with __your __ex!"_

She stares at him. _"But __he's __you!"_

"_We __may __have __some __genes __that __are __similar __but __that's __about __it! _I _at __least __can __tell __you __how __I feel!"_

There's an unmanly gasp from Nine. Unnoticed, Ten has moved enough to grab at John's pant leg in an effort to pull himself up and a nearly cheerful sound is heard from him: _"Metty!"_

John stumbles and looks down in disbelief and slight disdain at Ten. _"You! __Get __off __of __me!" _He tries to shake the grabby Doctor off. "_You __abandoned __me! __Do __you _know _how __long __it __took __me to __get __through __that?"_

He tried to kick at Ten who only ended up tugging harder and pulling John off his feet. Rose reaches out automatically and in an effort to keep his footing, his hand catches Rose by her hair and pulls her down with him. A cry of pain is heard and suddenly Nine has jumped in and grabbed the blue-suited Doctor, yelling, _"Don't __you __hurt __Rose!"_ before landing a punch to the man's nose. John returns the favor (forcefully) and chaos ensues.

Terry finally comes back on screen, surprise evident on his face. He shoots a fearful glance over his shoulder as a chair is heard breaking. _"And __that's __all __folks! __In __this __edition __of __'The Terry __Larger __Show'!"_

The screen blinks out.


	9. Yes

**Yes**

The quiet seemed laden with expectation. The feel of this shipyard varied greatly from those of the newer models. There, the air was filled with erratic energy, as the ships vied for attention, showing off their latest gadget and newest trick. Here, in this yard full of Type 40 TARDISes, there was a sense of peace and _knowingness _lying heavy around him.

He'd been given an opportunity to match up with a 53 but having stood in the control room, reaching out to the core of that newer model, the arrogance and narrow-minded sentience of the ship had put him off. He wasn't interested in creating further connections that would ground him to this stultified existence.

His fingers trailed from one ship to the next. Curiously, he noted that his heartbeats had sped up and that his breath had shortened to a slight degree. That had never happened to him before. Actual emotion was foreign to his kind. Was this in response to the situation at hand? Was this due to the fact that what he had in mind, a crime that hadn't been perpetrated in his world for hundreds of years, was going to be done by his own hand?

He shrugged off the slight regret at the thought. He didn't want to be stuck on Gallifrey. He wanted to explore the lands and times that he'd studied about. He didn't want to just be a lord over Time, he wanted to experience it, he wanted to—_what was that human saying?_—be up to his elbows in it.

In this first life of his, he'd been hindered, stopped and denied his basic right to inquisitiveness, to looking for himself. _Well, _he thought as his hand found the latch open of this ship, _I will be denied no more_.

His mouth dropped as he pushed open the door and stepped in. His eyes lit on the spacious control room of this TARDIS, the warm glow of the walls and the console in the center and the his mind felt the welcome of a kindred spirit. He was unaware of his first words to this ship though she would remember it for eternity.

"You are the most beautiful thing I've ever known."


	10. On My Own

**On My Own**

(Rose wanders off. _Again._ 9/Rose)

* * *

><p>Rose's breaths quickened despite her attempts to quell her rising panic. The narrow stairway seemed to shrink as she stood there. Her hands came up to push at the immobile walls on either side of her. To her right, the wall was white, slightly rough, unfeeling; the left: glass, slippery, opaque. She couldn't get off this floor. She'd gone up the stairs and down and ended up exactly where she started. The door that had led her to this godforsaken empty place.<p>

As she looked down at the landing below, she knew that once she turned that corner, she would be right back up at the top of the stairs. She couldn't get her mind around it, but she'd walked the route enough times to know it was true.

She placed her hands on either side of her head, fingers gripping her hair as she tried to think of what to do. She _knew_ she shouldn't have left him to go exploring on her own. How many times had he told her? Part of her reared up in defense, knowing that she could and had handled things on her own many times in the past. It was just that this was not one of those times.

A growl of frustration escaped her gritted teeth as she threw her fists back to her sides. It seemed like it'd been hours since she'd gone through the innocuous white door in the middle of the Hidar shopping center. It'd only caught her attention due to being the only colorless thing amidst the rainbow-happy species. And it was only supposed to be for a moment but there'd been _stairs_ and they'd led _somewhere_ and she couldn't help it! Wasn't fulfilling her curiosity the main reason she was travelling with the Doctor? Well, maybe not _the_ main reason but that wasn't something she was going to get into just yet.

Willing herself to calm, she assessed her surroundings with a new eye. Though she'd walked the steps at least a hundred times now in both directions, she decided to do it once more, this time, carefully trailing her fingers on either wall, noting the contrast in the surfaces. No secret door opened, no trap door revealed itself, it seemed that there really was no escape.

She refused to get weepy. She'd been in plenty of hopeless situations before and she'd gotten out of them. A frown crept up on her. She'd wanted to handle this without having to rely on him but at this point, she'd be here until she was old and gray. Falling back on the one thing that had always come through she shouted at the top of her lungs, "Doctor!"

His name echoed off the empty walls until silence swallowed up the call. She let some minutes pass before acknowledging that he hadn't heard her. The oppressiveness of the place weighed on her, making her hesitate to call out for him again. Wearily, she started walking down the steps again, letting her feet fall heavily, if only to hear something else besides her breathing.

Eventually she heard a double step, a slight echo of her own.

"Rose?" the faint voice cut through her daze. Stunned, she looked around, trying to figure out where the voice came from.

"Doctor?" she responded eagerly.

"Rose!"

Still her ears couldn't locate where his voice was coming from. "Where are you?"

"I'm right above you…I think." He paused. Rose could picture him pulling out his sonic screwdriver to gather more data. Her eyebrows scrunched in confusion. He'd said he was above her but she'd finally thought she'd heard him from below and told him so.

"Yes. You would think that." Rose tried not to flinch, knowing that his "_You're an ape"_ inflection only appeared when he was concerned or worried about her. "You're in a perception drifter room. It's a training space for the Hidar police. Proofs them up again psychic attack. Rose, you're going to have to jump down to get up."

"What?"

"Just jump down and you'll come on up," he repeated, as if what he'd just said wasn't confusing.

"Doctor, this sounds even more crazy then usual." She wasn't keeping the annoyance out of her voice.

"Rose, the room's meant to mess with your sense of direction. Just trust me, all right? Jump down to get up." His tone had gentled, soothing her ruffled feathers.

Shrugging, she pictured herself jumping down to get up and leaped off the top landing—

—and landed in a pair of leather clad arms. Her hands clasped his elbows and she inhaled deeply before leaning back and meeting his concerned blue eyes.

She grinned, happy to see him. He grinned back and her world righted itself.

**Author's Note: Don't usually write Nine/Rose so this was kind of fun. Not my best, but had to get _something_ out.**


	11. On the Corner

**On the Corner**, Eleven/Rose  
><em>...his name was Jimmy Stone<em>

* * *

><p>The humid air hung heavy with exhaust, dirt and the stench of millions of people coming together all at once. London seemed too full, its streets congested with vehicles of all kinds, from taxis to bicycles and the occasional horse, the sidewalks filled with men, women and the infrequent alien in disguise and the summer blue sky nearly blocked out with the far-reaching buildings and city smog.<p>

He stands on the street corner, the immovable rock in the stream of life that flows around him. He takes no notice. Businessmen intent on making the most of their lunch hour, college students happy to have only a few mid term courses to complete, young couples who just met at the coffee shop, all of them, make their way to and past this tall man in his tweed jacket and his mismatching bowtie. Most pay as little attention to him as he does to them. But most of them don't know who he is.

Amy and Rory had taken note of his silence and left him to it, mumbling something about getting some decent chips and a drink while they could. Amy hadn't wanted to leave him to the mood he was in, but Rory, in one of his rare persuasive moments, had gotten the redhead to exit the TARDIS with minimum fuss and left the Doctor sitting in his jump seat staring at the console.

The date was 19 June 2003. The day Rose left Jimmy Stone.

"'_E was a bad'un, 'e could be. I honestly dunno what it was I saw in him. I thought it was _love, _you know? The kind of love that lasted forever. But it wasn't. He hurt me. Hurt me in more ways than I knew then. I finally left 'im. The day after my birthday. He didn't like that."_

His fists clench at the memory and an approaching street seller suddenly finds that he'd prefer to give his gimmick to the little old lady quite far from this young but old seeming fellow. The Doctor's eyes don't move from the apartment building across the street, his gaze very possibly able to burn a hole through the green wooden door.

A hand claps him on the back, startling him out of his vigil.

"You remember, too, huh?"

The brash American voice is one that the Doctor is likely never to forget. Especially since he's got his suspicions of who Captain Jack Harkness would turn into. The man looked to not have aged a day.

The Doctor's eyebrow raises in response to Jack's flirtatious wink. "How'd you figure out it was me?"

The man gives a careless shrug, moving to stand next to the lankier Time Lord, crossing his arms and facing Jimmy's apartment building. "Well, you've been standing on this corner for quite some time now, occasionally taking out that upgraded model of a sonic screwdriver out of your pocket (I was sad to see it wasn't something else) and you're here on this date. Which we probably shouldn't be."

The Doctor's jaw set at Jack's last words. He couldn't ignore the implications in the sentiment, but he also couldn't forget Rose's face as she'd told the story of Jimmy Stone. His strong Rose had had tears in her eyes as she stared unseeingly ahead, one small hand coming up to rub her face in an unconscious movement. He'd gotten angry at this Jimmy, who'd laid hands on her in a manner not fit for Rose or any woman and he remembered meeting Jack's eyes and seeing a similar anger in them.

"But I'm glad we're here anyway. Because that boy's going to get the beating he deserves. Even if we don't get to talk to Rose," Jack continues.

The Doctor nods, too keyed up at the moment to say more. The green door had burst open across the way and a girl, no more than 17 or 18 years old comes stumbling down the steps. She's crying and trying to pull her sweater around her, in jerky, painful movements. She's running towards them and he has to hold himself still with all that he has to not catch her up in his arms. He didn't want to risk doing something that would ruin him being able to meet her later. He could feel the different threads of time slowly swaying together and away. He didn't want to risk a tangle.

"You bloody bitch! Don't think you can just use Jimmy Stone and get away with it!" A wiry man in his late twenties follows Rose out into the street, holding a bag full of clothes and what looks to be random appliances. His face is contorted in anger as he shouts obscenities at the girl who's stopped in the middle of the street to look at him, heedless of traffic coming her way.

"Jimmy! I'm sorry! I just—"

Her words cut off in a cry as the man hurls the pink bag at her face, hitting her just above her eye and she goes down. The Doctor doesn't even think—he doesn't give a damn about tangles, about not supposed to be here in the first place, about maybe not meeting her again—she's hurt and she needs him _now_.

He picks her up off the ground and carries her to the sidewalk, her petite frame curled up, as if she's trying to contain the pain inside. Jack rushes past him, thunder in the tails of his long coat. "You take care of her. I'll take care of him." The Doctor barely acknowledged him as he bends over his girl.

Her eyes are shut tight and tears are squeezing out at the corners as heartbreaking sounds of suppressed cries come from deep inside her. She's wearing too much make up and it's running together. Her hair's too blonde from the shade he's used to but he doesn't care because it's her. His hand is running down her hair and touching her face gently and he's whispering nonsensical, reassuring sounds and she slowly stops sobbing. Her eyes open and his hearts clench inside as her brown eyes meet his.

Reluctantly he lets her go as she sits up in his arms, confused but not scared. He brings his hands to her shoulders and kisses her gently on her forehead. "It'll be okay," he can't help but whisper. She doesn't say anything back, just looks at him before shutting her eyes and nodding. He touches her hair one last time before he leaves. Before he can't let go of her again.


	12. my almost lover

**my almost lover**, 10.5/Rose, G  
><em>The Doctor who was left with her on that godforsaken beach…him, she didn't know at all.<em>, 1173

* * *

><p>It was hard for them. Hard for them to pick up where they left off. She hadn't realized how difficult it would be. In all the years she spent getting back to him, she hadn't thought much past finally <em>being <em>with him.

She saw now that she was mistaken.

The Doctor she'd known was not the Doctor she met on that abandoned street. She'd glimpsed darkness in him, facing down the Daleks.

The Doctor who was left with her on that godforsaken beach…him, she didn't know at all. All she'd been able to feel in that moment was that _her _Doctor was leaving her. Doing what he'd promised would never happen to _her. _She'd gone with impulse, listened to her impetuous heart and kissed the Doctor in the blue suit when he'd finally said the words she'd been hoping _he _would say. She flushed with shame remembering why she'd kissed him. Silly human, thinking this pettiness would make an ancient Time Lord jealous. He'd just left. No goodbye.

When the sounds of the TARDIS had faded, she'd realized he'd grabbed her hand and had instinctively let go. This hand was only for _the _Doctor. She'd realized how that had come off only after it was too late. This space between her and the half-human Doctor grew cold as they made their way to the pick-up point for one of Pete's zeppelins.

She'd tried to make some sort of conversation, but after meeting a solid wall of monosyllabic answers, she'd given up. Jackie remained quiet, letting them sort it out themselves. When they'd gotten back to the mansion, Pete had set him up in his own room after he'd quietly asked for a place to rest. She'd left him alone, noting the tiredness in his face that she'd never seen in her Doctor. She'd gone to sleep that night feeling awful and wanting to make amends.

The next morning he was gone.

* * *

><p>The days following the mending of the rifts of reality were vague to Rose. She'd been so one-track minded for so long that <em>not <em>thinking about getting back to the Doctor and dedicating every moment to it was so foreign that she felt adrift.

She moved through Torchwood labs in a haze of unreality. She oversaw the disassembly of the Cannon, a feeling of grief gripping her as she watched her last link to her Doctor being taken away. Still, she knew it was for the best. They hadn't saved all of creation for nothing.

She took to exploring the city and its surrounding areas. Whereas before she'd thought of this alternate reality as nothing more than a launch point to get back to her home universe, now she knew she would have to make her home here.

The familiar sights mixed in with the out-of-place and incongruous stirred a bit of curiosity in her, but also weighed her. She didn't realize how much it wore on her until she stood across from the London Eye and noticed it was a docking station for zeppelins. The tears came without volition and she bent over in pain, hidden within a doorway.

* * *

><p>A month passed and a letter arrived for Rose at the mansion. The utilitarian brown of the envelope had seen its share of coffee and cramped spaces. It was postmarked from Czechoslovakia. The handwriting on the front looked vaguely familiar.<p>

Sitting on the edge of her bed she opened it, anxiety in the shaking of her fingers. She paused before opening the battered letter, sternly ordering herself to _calm down_.

Opening it slowly and taking in the words, she felt a silent sigh sweep through her.

_Rose,_

_I'm writing because- __I hope this letter finds you-__I don't even know if you'll__-How many ways can I start this letter? I don't even know if I'll post this once I'm done writing but I had to write down _something_. Even if I'm using this ancient device called a PEN of all things. (If you haven't noticed by now, I'm going to blather on a bit, I've got the tenth incarnation of me _AND _Donna Noble running through me—you can imagine how that might turn out.)_

_I left to try to find myself. I'm not _your _Doctor. I'm not human. I'm not a Time Lord. I don't know _what _I am. It's like that feeling I have each time I've—or I guess, _he's_—regenerated. Except a thousand fold._

_Now, don't be reading this part and feeling all bad about yourself, Rose. I know you didn't exactly mean to treat me the way you did on the beach. I mean, you _did, _but you, like myself, were just getting used to the enormous change our lives had taken. So I understand. Don't beat yourself up about it._

Rose sniffed at this. He _knew_ her.

_I don't think I've found myself yet, but I do feel like I've discovered a little about who I am, this metacrisis self of mine. I know I still like to travel, that I'm curious about other people. (Notice that I'm in Czechoslovakia right now! _Czechoslovakia_! We don't have that back in our universe anymore!)_

_I get tired. I have to _sleep_, Rose! Sleep for HOURS on end on a regular basis! Okay, maybe not "hours on end" but definitely at least five, which is more than I've ever had to do before._

_I'm still brilliant. Don't roll your eyes at me. It's just a fact, not stroking my ego. (Though I could use a bit of that.) The other day, I was able to fix my landlady's broken air conditioner with no more than a toothpick and some toilet paper (don't ask how because I'm still trying to figure it out—apparently I can _know _these things but not really know them—which doesn't make any sense, but oh, well)._

_I know I still-__ I miss you. It was hard when I was still my full Time Lord self, but now I don't have the control garnered over hundreds of years, I've only got a few weeks worth developed. And it hurts. This human heart, even if it's only one, seems to experience a lot of emotion. More than I'm used to._

_Don't feel like you have to reciprocate. I know that you're still finding your own footing, too. I just thought that, maybe, if you want, you could be my friend. I need a friend._

_I don't even know how to sign this._

The letter ended abruptly.

For long moments, she sat staring at the paper, fingers absently tracing the lines of his words, stopping at _friend_. Tears gathered in her eyes as she realized that she badly needed a friend, too. While he may not be the Doctor she thought she would end up with, he was still someone who knew her and who cared for her. The least she could do was try.

Making her way to her desk, she pulled out a sheet of paper and put pen to it.

_Dear Mr. Trying to Find Himself…_


	13. feel again

**Feel Again**, TenToo/Rose, PG, 1702

* * *

><p>The letters don't start with a salutation; no greeting line to put a label to the addressee. Just the story, the person communicating their innermost thoughts.<p>

They don't end in a signature either. Nothing to mire them in previous computations of the other. These are simply a means of finding themselves again.

And each other.

One is trying to find himself, gain a name, forget an old one through travel.

The other is trying to find her footing, to gain her measure, settle into a life she didn't expect to have.

* * *

><p><em>The human body can only go 330 meters underwater without a suit or some other kind of vehicle to protect it. Recreationally, a human should only attempt 68 meters, if that even. With this in mind, I find it interesting that this world insists on submarines as the primary mode of oceanic transportation. Having not had a chance yet to study the encyclopedias of this universe, I wonder what incident prompts this shift from ships to subs.<em>

_I'm in a submarine right now. Didn't have any cash on me to speak of so I'm doing a bit of deck hand work. Though there aren't really any decks so I don't know what you call it. Sub-deck-hand work? Floor work? Inner submarine marinological work? (Yes, I know that isn't a word.)_

_Not sure where I'll get off. I've spent enough time in the European Alliance now I feel. Think I'll explore the southern hemisphere for a bit._

_I have to say, not being able to get somewhere instantly makes for some long trips. But at least I've got a friend to write to, eh?_

* * *

><p><em>It was "Bring Your Sibling to Work" day today so Tony was in the Tower, creating all sorts of mischief. He's only four so you can imagine what kind of trouble he got into. Dad generally forbids him from coming and Tony seems to be aware of it, so guess where he spent most of his time? Hanging on Dad's leg. I particularly enjoyed the weekly budget meeting with Tony babbling at his feet.<em>

_Since I don't think you can travel with an entire encyclopedic set with you, I took the time to look up the history of submarines. Apparently, when_ Titanic _happened here, factories turned their time and energy to building reinforced bottoms of ships which then turned into just building underwater ships as a whole. They thought it was safer that way. It seems to have worked out._

_If you go to the Caribbean, if there is a Caribbean, can you send me a coconut?_

* * *

><p><em>Did you know that coconuts don't exist here? They have something that looks like a coconut on the outside but tastes like a mango-pear on the inside. A MANGO-PEAR! I cannot stand PEARS. The fuzzy sour feeling would not wear off my tongue for days. At least they still have regular mangoes. I would be very very sad to discover that they didn't. I'm sending you a mango-pear (called "mannut," I swear, I could not stop laughing when they told me at first) even though this is a disgusting taste. I know you've always been fond of pears. (Which is a mark against you, just so you know.)<em>

_The other day I went to the market and learned how to play the nyabinghi drums (the tall wooden ones you stand behind and it makes that deep organic drumbeat). The natives here thought it was interesting that I wanted to know. After a test run though I seemed to be relegated to only one of the drums to beat on, and only when the drummer told me to. Not sure if this meant he was jealous of my overwhelming talent out-shining him or what…_

_I learned something else about me recently (besides the ever present disgust of pears). I like hanging upside down. No this is not a non-sequitur comment. I was in my bat-cave the other day, realizing that I'm Batman—no really, sorry, getting to the point—I was hanging upside down the other day trying to find one of my socks which seem to have disappeared under the bed and realized how this increased the blood flow to my brain. And how it was fun. (And yes, I could have gotten out of bed and gotten on my knees to look for the thing but I didn't really realize how lazy human bodies can be in the morning—I guess that's another thing I've found out about myself.)_

_I wonder what you work on, now that you're not, well, looking for me, or him, I suppose. I haven't asked because, well, you haven't mentioned. I want to wipe this whole paragraph out now, but I've sworn to not to filter myself to you. You're really the only true friend I have here and you deserve all my ramblings in their unadulterated glory. Don't think you have to answer this last paragraph._

* * *

><p><em>I like this "mannut." I CANNOT say that or even WRITE that with a straight face. Mum's looking at me strangely, since I was laughing and slightly choking on this fruit. She had a bite and asked what it was. I couldn't say it's proper term so she's sharing a bit of the "Mongolian Nut" with Tony right now.<em>

_I hate to break this to you, but you were never musically inclined. Remember that one time on Ranhillea IV? You were asked to participate in a christening, playing what passed for an earth triangle and they literally had to stop the whole thing to take it away from you and continue with the ceremony! Don't bother denying it right now, you know it's true._

_Dad's got me listed as ET Special Ops, meaning I'm the alien techie, diplomat, intel, catchall, troubleshooter extraordinaire. Basically, I handle what the other departments can't. I don't have a "pet" project anymore. Dismantled the Dimension Cannon since I think you were asking that. I know better than to have that be something available for any old person to rip open the time continuum._

_I'm settling into __something here. Not sure what yet, but think I'm getting close._

_I'll hear from you later, I suppose…Batman._

* * *

><p><em>I was going to write something funny and anecdotal but something happened today that makes the world just not that amusing or fun to be in right now. I wish you'd been here with me. It's selfish of me to even write this, but I can't help it.<em>

_He died today, Rose. The tenth regenerated into the eleventh incarnation. I woke up in the middle of the night feeling like fire was racing through my arms and legs but when I pulled them up to where I could see them, swearing that I would find them glowing with Time energy, they were just ordinary human hands and feet._

_And I realized how alone I was. This isn't to make you feel guilty, but just stating a fact._

He's _gone. The me that was me. Where I came from. You could say that he lives on in this eleventh incarnation, and he does, but him, all the idiosyncrasies, the thinking pattern, the details, the importances and the mundaniety of_ his _life have been stripped away. For a moment, I could feel just a shadow of the new incarnation, feel his ability to set aside what had weighed his previous self down._

_I'm really the only thing left of him. Yet I am not him, and he was not me._

_I hadn't really realized how that echo of him residing in me had been intrinsic to my own sense of self. I feel lost and not a little afraid of moving forward without him. I realize that I have to be brave now. Because it's just me._

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><p>He can only hear the soft sounds of the beach settling down, nature coming to rest for the night. he susurration of tide rolling in does little to sooth his mind. She hadn't written back. Was it because he'd called her by name? Was it because he'd made it known how much he needed her?<p>

He digs his toes into the fine sand a bit further, the last vestiges of captured warmth sinking into the slightly numb appendages. This is one of the things he enjoys about the human body, the ability to feel his body go from cold to hot. He doesn't enjoy the reverse too much.

The idyllic setting seems to underscore the tangible misery that's seeped into him since the morning he woke, knowing that there was only him now to carry on this incarnation's memories and dreams.

It isn't only this knowledge that brings this weight down on him, it's the fact that he'd felt some _relief_ at the time of the tenth's "death." Relief that he wasn't just a copy anymore. He could be his own man.

He huffs out a mirthless chuckle. Guilt and moodiness are things that've always come easily to him. Some things never changed.

In this moment, he misses Rose. She is really the only person who's lightened him from the inside out. Others, he was able to play it off for a little, make it seem like he'd moved on, but really the misery was always present. Rose is his lantern, his guide of the dark.

His head dips down, considering the grains of sand. He could do with some guidance now.

The sun sets with no further fanfare and he sits at the edge of the water, looking but not seeing. His time sense slips now and then, especially in times like this, and he doesn't know if an hour or three have passed when he feels the change in the air around him.

She settles down in the space next to him, as if she'd already been there, having left for only a moment to check on something. He doesn't move, afraid that this is a waking dream, an echo of fierce desire to have her here. A long moment passes, both of them staring straight ahead, no verbal acknowledgement between them.

Warm fingers find his in the sand, a light clasp that's both familiar and new.

He finds himself smiling.

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><p><strong>Author's Note: This was a follow-up to "My Almost Lover" within this volume of Stuff of Legends. Thank you to all who've favoritedfollowed this story! If you can leave a review, I would be able to pay for my rent - kidding! But a review would be nice. *grin***


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